


Fenris the Dreamer

by FandomN00b



Series: Lost and Found: The Misadventures of Marian Hawke and Everyone She Meets [4]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: ALL THE DREAMS!, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, CW ppl who care about each other being jerks to one another, Dreams and Nightmares, Dreams vs. Reality, F/M, Fenris is maybe some kind of non-mage Dreamer? IDK..., Hawke and co. at sea, Lost and Found DA2 endgame canon divergence, M/M, Multi, POV Fenris (Dragon Age), angsty dreams, fluffyish dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-15 04:15:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17521832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomN00b/pseuds/FandomN00b
Summary: Fenris starts dreaming again as he, Varric, Merrill, Isabela, and a devastated Hawke flee Kirkwall by sea immediately after the Chantry explosion.





	1. Old and New Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> This is meant to be part of a canon-divergent AU where Anders blew himself up with the Chantry (see ["Part I: Lost"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14530383/chapters/33572619) in this series, ["Lost and Found: The Misadventures of Marian Hawke and Everyone She Meets"](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1013661)). So Anders is dead. But not because Hawke killed him. Honestly, WHO COULD DO THAT?!
> 
> Takes place right before ["Part III: Fly Away"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17659880/chapters/41647754), and gives a little bit more of Fenris' POV on this whole Dreaming business, which will feature heavily in that part.

Flashbacks. Dreams. They had stopped for awhile, because he and Isabela hadn’t been as good about their sessions recently. Well, he hadn’t been, anyway. Isabela was always open to it, willing to drop almost anything if he wanted to talk about something or try out something new and process the aftermath of it with her. But he found himself more and more looking for excuses to avoid these sorts of exercises, even going so far as making something up when there weren’t any rumors of slavers to investigate, or errands to run for Varric, or random wild goose chases left to do with Hawke. Isabela never pressed him on it, even though he knew she knew when he was lying. She knew, more than anyone, how important it was for his healing that things like this were always done, or not done, on his terms.

Truthfully, he had grown impatient with himself, and he had stopped seeing the point. It didn’t feel like they were making nearly as much progress as they had when they’d first started, and he should really have been doing much better since they’d finally dealt with Danarius. His dreams had stopped, anyway. So he allowed himself to believe he didn’t need to work so hard at all of this anymore, that maybe he was all better, as better as he could be, and he just needed to get used to these feelings of emptiness. He was wrong, of course. But it was easier to believe that than it was to explore the big, gaping hole he still felt inside after achieving the one thing he’d been obsessed with for nearly a decade.

But as they fled the smoldering pile of rubble and ash, and the conflict forced to an explosive head by an impatient revolutionary they'd all considered a friend, if not more, the dreams had suddenly come back. With a vengeance, like before...no, worse than before, more vivid, more real, reminding him why he had gone to Isabela for help with this shit in the first place. And making him curse himself for ever thinking he would be free of these damned things.

Familiar dreams from his past in Tevinter that still haunted him. Danarius, Hadriana, his torturers, and scores of people whose names he never bothered to learn because they didn’t matter. They _couldn’t_ matter. And rare, fuzzy glimpses of his childhood. A mother, certainly he’d had one, and presumably she’d cared about him, and a sister, whom he’d met but had no real fondness to remember her by. And always, visions of all the people he’d hurt or killed at Danarius’ command.

More recent memories haunted him, too. Some of these were more fleshed out with frustrated desire, regrets he couldn’t blame on anyone but himself. Anders. A flash of heated stupid passion between them, a kiss instead of the fists or searing magic he’d expected to come hurling from the mage in the middle of a drunken argument so many years ago. A kiss that still caused him so much pain, though, and, unlike the physical pain he lived with day-to-day, this was pain he had yet to learn to deal with.

And of course, Hawke. Another kiss, the same misguided passion fueling his boldness then as with Anders. But _she_ was the one who apologized. Again. Always. When he had been the one who cornered _her_. He had wanted it, but then fear overcame him, and she saw the familiar pain in his eyes that he wished would disappear. And neither of them ever mentioned it again.

His first two attempts at physical intimacy had been angry, clumsy, and fruitless, doing more harm for him than good, and they haunted his dreams now as much as Danarius. He’d been too eager, perhaps, in this newfound freedom, clueless how to even begin, forced to rely on urges alone, and he’d suffered greatly for each of these moments with more painful dreams and memories clawing their way out of his sub-conscience than he was prepared to deal with.

Only Isabela knew how much he _wished_ he could just be like them. So casual, so care-free with their affections. Hawke with her impossibly warm hands all over everyone she met. Except him, of course. And Anders, with his damn freakishly long-armed hugs that they all raved about, which Fenris could never experience, and his blighted healing magic. It had taken a full on spiritual intervention with Justice, of all people, before Fenris would allow the mage to save his life. Because he feared what might happen if he touched him.

But he also dreamt of Isabela introducing him to chocolate-covered strawberries, and how that first bite had nearly sent him over the edge. And how they'd laughed together with pure joy, as he gradually learned over the course of weeks to enjoy something as simple and delicious and wonderful as a strawberry shared with a friend, one careful bite at a time. And pillows. And being wet. And the smell of fresh flowers. And hot and cold. And hats. None were quite as impactful as the strawberries, of course, but these were new memories of experiences he could actually cherish instead of wanting to forget.

And he dreamed about Merrill, and an old chipped tea set that came to live at the mansion with him to accommodate her regular weekly visits, though he still hated tea. And Varric and Donnic and Hawke’s dog who somehow found her way to his place quite often all on her own whenever they got together to play Diamondback. Fenris was the best at bluffing, of course. Donnic seemed the luckiest. And Varric still managed to win most of the time, anyway. But the dog often nuzzled her way into Fenris’ lap for pets by the end of the night, nudging his elbow for pieces of cheese or fruit, which he happily shared, so maybe _she_ was the real winner.

All of this was gone now. Lost. He’d taken his time, too much time, learning how to be a person. How to be a friend. How to enjoy silly, sensual pleasures. And now...Hawke was devastated beyond repair. Kirkwall was in ruins. And Anders was gone.

...

This dream was different, though. It wasn’t a memory, necessarily, though it certainly felt as real as any of the others. It began like one, in a familiar setting: the overgrown gardens of Danarius’ estate in Kirkwall. But the three of them had never been there together, not like this. A little drunk, laughing, relaxed, enjoying themselves and just being in each other’s company. Anders seemed unusually care-free, and Hawke’s face betrayed far fewer lines of worry and exhaustion than it had for quite some time. If he had to guess, he’d have placed this at _least_ five years in their past. Well, not _their_ actual past. But some version of them in their own possible past.

“We should play Wicked Grace!” Hawke was beaming, the wine warming her cheeks and her chest and making her eyes sparkle against the pinkness in her face even more than usual.

“Yes! We should!" Anders agreed. "I’m tired of losing to Isabela and Varric. I swear, they both cheat. I’m sure I could beat you two, especially in the compromised states I’ve found you in!”

Hawke blew sloppy raspberries at him, unaware that she was only furthering his point. “Compromised? Who’s compromised?! I’m my best at Wicked Grace when I’m wasted!”

“Did you drink all these bottles together just tonight? It doesn’t look like you’ve saved any for me and Justice...not that _he_ would appreciate it. The spoilsport.”

Fenris laughed. “Don’t assume I am as much of a lightweight as Hawke. I drank most of this before she even got here!”

Anders raised an amused eyebrow at him. “Are you bragging about your broody alcoholism, Fenris? Overindulgence is a sin, you know, according to the Chantry!”

“Do you not brag about your hobo apostasy, mage?” Fenris tried to match Anders’ face, but he didn’t quite have his eyebrow down just yet. The mage was just so...animated. In his former life, maintaining a cool, blank, expressionless face at all times was a matter of survival. But now...it got him called things like “broody” or “prickly.” While those things were certainly true to an extent, he had been consciously trying to be a little more open to expressions of emotion with the people he cared about. It was manageable, since it was only really a handful of people, and the alcohol certainly helped. Well, that is, until it just made everything in his face go numb.

“Ouch…?” Anders smiled. He appreciated Fenris’ dry, cutting sense of humor, even more than Hawke. His jabs were like papercuts. The kind you don’t even realize you have until you look down and notice you’re bleeding. And then, they fucking sting! Fenris was learning that Anders seemed to enjoy a little bit of sting, when the mood was right.

Hawke was hopelessly rummaging through her pack in search of the Wicked Grace cards she’d ‘borrowed’ from Varric’s suite at the Hanged Man. She’d dumped out the same half of her bag’s contents and put it all back in several times already, expecting to somehow find the cards by repeating these steps over and over, and she was beginning to wonder if her bag had some kind of enchantment on it that made it bottomless. “Could one of you help me out with some glowey something or other? It seems to have gotten rather dark…”

Anders immediately produced an orb of blue-white lightning almost as fast as Fenris leaned over her with his lyrium markings glowing almost as brightly as they did when he was ripping organs out of slavers’ chests. Hawke nearly fell over laughing in surprised delight.

“I don’t think you could even remember how to play, Hawke, let alone where you put those cards…” Anders winked at Fenris. Another thing Fenris was trying to figure out how to do, if only to mock the mage. It always felt so awkward, so forced, when he did it. But it came so naturally to Anders, he was certain he had no idea his eyes even did that, let alone the effect it had on him.

“You’re right,” she sighed, tossing her pack aside. The cards fell haphazardly out of a pocket in the front, but nobody seemed to notice. “This was just a ploy to trick you both into a glow-off!”

“You’ve seen ours, now show us yours…” The corners of Fenris' mouth twitched up into a cautious smile.

“I don’t glow!”

“Oh no? When’s the last time you saw your eyes in the moonlight?” The alcohol had clearly had the effect of making him far more courageous, bordering on idiotic, in this false memory than he’d ever been in real life, drunk or sober. He cringed within his own dream at the cheesiness of it all.

“Oh, you flatterer!” Without any hesitation at all, and to his surprise, she wrapped one arm around his waist and pulled him towards her, planting her warm, wine-stained lips on his like it was nothing. Something they'd done a dozen or so times before. This alternate version of him did not resist. Did not recoil in panic. Did not push her away from him.

She turned back, “Anders, what do you have to say?”

“Err...I’ve just got this orb. How embarrassing.” He set it floating gently towards her face and it crackled and dissipated just before hitting her nose. She winced, then smiled with relief that her face still seemed to be intact. She reached with her other arm for the hand he’d used to cast it, clumsily intertwining her fingers with his and pulling him toward the two of them as Fenris lowered his gaze to her collarbone and pressed his forehead to her neck. Anders briefly entertained the idea of nobly resisting whatever this was about to be, as the only sober one among them, but Fenris grasped his arm and pulled him into their embrace more forcefully, reminding him of their previous argument-turned-kiss. How could he deny himself the opportunity to explore more of _that_?

“Be kind to each other. I don’t want to have to choose between you.” She pulled them even closer, intending to kiss both of them simultaneously, perhaps, though Fenris wasn’t sure how that was even possible, and he wasn’t really convinced Hawke knew, either.

"I don't think it's  _your_ choice alone to make, love..." Anders mused, feeling the intensity of Fenris' hold on him, and eyeing the elf, the way his heart was very nearly beating right out of his chest. This was what _he_ wanted.

“Isabela will be so jealous!” She grinned.

Anders winced. “You’re going to tell Isabela about this?”

“Of course!”

“Of course…” Fenris confirmed, nodding earnestly, as he pulled Anders into a kiss.

...


	2. Waking Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris wakes up in the wrong room after another weird false memory taunts him with things that could've been. Though this one isn't nearly as fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a super angsty setup for some high seas shenanigans to come in [Part III](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17659880/chapters/41647754).

...

But Fenris' mind didn't allow him to experience the rest of this false memory. He wasn't sure he could've endured it, anyhow. Instead, he was transported to a much more recent moment in this alternate dream timeline, judging by the more familiar lines of concern on Hawke’s face. Anders, bent over in anguish. Crying pitifully. Hawke by his side, holding him, protecting him, rocking him almost, like a child. Was Fenris even there?

Yes. He got his bearings, recognizing Hawke’s estate, her study, where she’d taught him to read. He was standing opposite them. He was the thing that Hawke was shielding Anders from, of course. An empty bottle in his hand, seemingly raised moments ago ready to be thrown towards the mage. Again, although this felt as real as any of his other flashbacks, it had never happened. At least, not all of it, not all at once with the three of them together like this.

Hawke stood up to face him, anger seething through her entire body. “This is your fault! You set him off! What are you trying to prove, Fenris?”

“No. He is right, Marian. I...can’t control it. Not anymore. Maybe I never could.” Anders wouldn’t even look up at him. This broke Fenris’ heart in ways he couldn’t have even imagined.

“Shhh...yes you can! _We_ can. We must! If not the three of us, then the two of us. Together.” Hawke just stared, enraged at Fenris as she spoke, whose heart sank even more at the thought of being excluded, from a relationship he’d never actually been a part of. What had he done wrong in this false memory? And why was his mind creating more painful scenarios when he already had plenty of those to sift through for a lifetime?

“You will destroy us all. Everything we have! Everything we have worked for."

Hawke's eyes burned into him. "What about what  _he_ has been working for? What progress have we seen in the Circle? Bethany isn't even allowed to visit me, her own sister, anymore!"

Anders squeezed his eyes shut. He could sense Justice trying to take control. He didn't want that. However pure or noble the spirit's intentions may have been, he didn't want him there, pushing into their life. Not right now.

Fenris could feel Justice stirring, too. He usually tried to calm himself, knowing how the lyrium inlaid all over his body could affect the spirit, but he didn't care right now. "This is pointless. You aren’t strong enough. I was a fool for ever believing you could fight this.”

He threw the bottle against the wall, pieces of glass shattering and raining sparkly bits in a beautifully dramatic display of his ruined hopes. Hopes he had never actually shared with anyone, or even really admitted to himself before now. But in this dream, it seemed he had been more open about his feelings for both of them. “You two, or three, can have each other! I refuse to take part in this madness any longer.”

Ah, so there it was. He was being himself again. His actual real self, not the false one these dreams had allowed him to believe in. And sabotaging whatever happiness they had found in each other.

“Fenris, wait!” Anders stood up, reaching out, pleading for him. His irises had faint specks of blue in them.

“Let him go, Anders. We do not need him.” Hawke’s tone was cold and cruel. Not like the Marian Hawke he had come to know at all. But then, this wasn’t her. Not really. And even if it was, he _had_ just given up on her. On them.

“You certainly won’t hesitate to call on me when you need my sword to fight another _Abomination_ , Hawke.” He knew how to hurt her...how to hurt them both, though he also knew Anders was better at hurting himself than either of them could have been. These were things that could only have come with having known them both so intimately. Having had a real relationship. One that was clearly coming to a sad and bitter end.

“Anders is NOT AN ABOMINATION!” It was Hawke’s turn to throw something, and she chose her fists for lack of anything else handy, flying toward Fenris with all her might. As strong as she was, it was still not a fair match without her daggers, Fenris’ strength and ability to absorb her blows enhanced considerably by the glowing lyrium lining his body. He caught her around the waist, using her momentum against her, and threw her to the ground.

Anders’ eyes were now fully Justice's, filled with icy blue like the cracks that had emerged all over his body, and white hot sparks flew from his hands toward them both. Fenris crouched suddenly over Hawke, bracing himself to absorb the anticipated attack for the both of them, instinctively protecting the woman who’d just attacked him from what he perceived to be a far greater threat.

“ENOUGH!” Justice’s voice boomed through Anders, filling the room. “THIS HAS GONE ON FOR FAR TOO LONG! YOU ARE BOTH JUST DISTRACTIONS, AND WE NO LONGER HAVE ANY NEED FOR YOU!”

Hawke and Fenris laid tangled together, stunned into stillness in a panting mess on the floor. The raw spirit magic flooded their senses, ringing in their ears, and punching at their lungs. Fenris felt it pulling hungrily at his markings.

It instantly reminded him of entering the Fade. Maybe that’s what this was? Not a dream or a trick of his own mind at all, but some perverted vision granted to him by a desire demon of a different possible life in which he had been more capable of expressing his feelings to the people he cared the most about, and they had, in some way, reciprocated. For awhile, anyway...

But if this was an attempt at luring him into some kind of fantasy in exchange for his soul, it surely wasn’t very effective, and had come a little too late, anyway. There was still so much pain here. This is what he had chosen to avoid. If anything, this vision helped to reassure him that he had been _right_ all along to be guarded and cautious with his feelings for the two of them. This certainly wasn’t any better.

“No!” Anders’ voice broke through, and the spirit magic instantly dissipated. “You will not hurt them. Leave us!”

Anders' own eyes searched them both in a panic, slightly horrified expressions still on their faces, but otherwise, unharmed. Their shared fear of him, _for_ him, what he was becoming, was even more heartbreaking than their fighting, and he nearly collapsed again in tears at the sight of it, but he staggered forward and tried to regain his composure. They were the only thing keeping him together, and if he lost them, he knew it would be all over. Justice would have been fully corrupted by him, and together, they would become pure, unadulterated Vengeance. “Forgive me. Please. Don’t be afraid. I won’t let myself…I won't let him...”

“I wish I could believe you, Anders…” Fenris’ voice was low and broken, but the bitterness was gone. “I want to believe you. I want to help you. Like you’ve helped me, _amatus_. But the way you’ve been acting...”

“I just need you to believe _in_ me. I promise, if it gets to that point -- well, I’ll let you know, and Fenris, you can rip my heart out. Like, I mean, actually, rip it out, love. I can think of no one better suited for it!” He laughed at himself. A lonely, hollow laugh that didn’t really make anyone in the room feel any better about the situation they were currently in.

“And what will I do? Just sit here and watch?” Hawke had managed to free herself from Fenris, who’d forgotten that he was still crouched down defensively over her. She sat up, relieved to have Anders back, even if he was joking about having Fenris kill him in the inevitable event that he became unable to control the Vengeance welling up within him.

“My love, have we ever allowed you to simply just sit back and watch?”

“ _Allowed_ me?” She took great offense at the implications about who was in charge of their relationship. She crossed her arms to really drive home the point, and for a moment, resembled her mother.

“I wish you wouldn’t joke about such things…” Fenris finally muttered. They looked at him with disappointed frowns, like children. Both of them. It was a wonder that he could find something so frustrating and yet still so endearing.

Fine. He could play along with their banter, pretending everything was just fine, too. He shrugged. “I’m just saying. Be careful, Anders, you don’t want to awaken a demon in our lady, too.”

Their frowns became idiotic smiles at his little 'joke,' and it almost made him believe they would be alright after all. It was worth it, anyhow, he thought, to pretend, for a little while longer, for as long as they had.

“Ha! Hawke is hardly a lady!” Anders bent down, offering his hand to her in an exaggerated flourish. When she swatted it aside, annoyed, he turned and offered it to Fenris, who smirked and took it delicately without another word of protest. Anders looked relieved that he was at least still willing to touch him.

Hawke stood up on her own and looked Anders up and down, reaching up to grasp him by the shoulders, her eyes stopping at his and searching deep. For Justice, maybe. For things he was trying to hide. “What are you up to, Anders? What are you keeping from us?”

“I -- ”

“I’m sure we don’t want to know, Marian,” Fenris grumbled, wishing they could move away from this if they were going to pretend everything was fine.

“ _You_ especially don’t want to know, Fenris.”

“Oh, _that’s_ reassuring…”

Hawke’s hands moved down to hold Anders’ hands. Her voice was suddenly quiet, almost a whisper, as she pleaded with him. “You can’t keep dropping cryptic hints like this and not letting us in. You see what it’s doing to you, don’t you? What it’s doing to all of us? Please, whatever it is you’re up to, just let us be a part of it. Then, Justice will see that we are not here to distract you. But that we are all on the same team.”

Fenris sighed, looking down at their hands clasped together. “I know I will probably regret this, but I agree. Whatever you or the spirit within you needs, I am ready to assist.”

Anders was looking down at the ground. “I’m sorry. I can’t. You can’t. Not even Justice…” He paused. He’d already said more than he wanted to.

He looked back up at them, a cheerful half-smile plastered forcibly across his face. “Can we just enjoy this time...right now? Tonight. Just the three of us. How often do we get to all be together like this? I promise Justice won’t bother us again.”

…

Fenris awoke abruptly. The swaying of the ship was disorienting enough, and especially so after waking up from another one of these dreams. But at least it was something he could recognize. He searched all around him for anything else that was familiar enough to help him figure out where he was. When he was. _Who_ he even was. But it was dark. Of course it was dark. He was on a ship.

As he waited for his brain, his eyes, and the rest of him to adjust, he heard a set of soft giggles outside. One small and infectious, the other low and sultry and lingering. Merrill, Isabela. Yes. They had fled Kirkwall. On Isabela’s new ship. And he'd left them all fretting away together up above to find some solace in being alone after what had happened.

“Let Daisy go to bed, Rivaini!” He recognized Varric’s voice, shouting from somewhere further down the hall.

“We’re just checking on Hawke!” Isabela hissed back at him.

Shit. That's right. Hawke had literally _crumbled_ in front of what was left of the Chantry, and they'd dragged her, almost lifeless, along with them. He’d promised Aveline he’d look after her. But he wasn't a healer. And he suspected the worst of Hawke's wounds weren't the kind that could be treated like that, anyway.

“Yeah, that’s definitely what it sounds like...” Varric’s voice had gotten closer. He must’ve come out of his room to scold them. Or join them.

“Hawke? Hmmm...oh yes! Hawke! Where did we put her again?”

“Kitten…remind me to teach you how to lie a little more convincingly so that we can make this work,” Isabela muttered.

“I’m sorry! I thought we _were_ meant to be looking after her.”

“You know what? I take it back. Don’t ever change. You’re perfect.”

More giggles. Then an exasperated sigh from Varric. “So then, we _are_ checking on Hawke?

"I think it was this one, right?” Merrill was obviously standing right outside _his_ room. He debated whether or not he should go to the door and tell her, or wait and see if Varric or Isabela would correct her mistake.

“Yeah,” Varric and Isabela answered her.

They must’ve all been drinking. Well, of _course_ they'd been drinking, because surely they’d gotten confused. It was understandable, since all the bunk rooms were identical, and it was just one long hallway through the bowels of the ship. He could forgive Merrill. She was always getting lost, turned around. But Isabela really should have known her way around her own ship a bit better than this.

The door opened slightly, allowing a little bit of light into the room from the lamps in the hallway outside. “Hullo?” Merrill peeked around it.

“I think you’ve got the wrong --” he began to explain through the dark, finally getting up out of the tattered bunk he’d been sleeping in with an irritated sigh. He supposed he’d join them to see how Hawke was doing. It would take his mind off of these most recent dreams, at least.

“Fenris?! What are you doing in here?” Merrill squeaked.

“Do you really need to _ask_ him that, Kitten?”

Fenris glared at her. “Ummm…there seems to be some kind of mistake.”

“Oh, you can pretend it was a mistake, if you want.” Isabela winked at him. It was different than Anders’ wink. Way less subtle. More annoying than anything. It was mostly an act, he'd realized, but one she could never really quit.

Isabela pushed the door open all the way, allowing the light from the hallway to illuminate the room.

Fenris hissed at her, and shut his eyes at the sudden change in light.

“See for yourself, hun…” she said with a smug little grin.

As he glanced around the room, he was not expecting to be surprised by anything he saw other than maybe the filthy state of Isabela’s ship, and that would have hardly been surprising, really. But sure enough, there was Hawke, curled up asleep, or trying to sleep, on the bunk on the opposite side of the room.

“Go away, idiots,” she grumbled, without turning to face them. The intrusion was even more offensive to her than to Fenris, it seemed.

“HAWKE!” Merrill squealed, running over to embrace her.

“I said, go away!” She swatted haphazardly at the little woman, but refused to turn around and face them. Merrill just vibrated happily close by, taking no offense. Hawke was responsive, and she could move! These two things alone were cause for at least a little bit of celebration in Merrill's mind.

“Are you alive, then, my dear?” Isabela asked, with more measured enthusiasm.

“Yes,” came the blunt reply.

Isabela smiled. “Good.” She nodded at Varric, as if that settled the matter. Hawke _would_ be fine, after all.

“Wait...I don’t understand…” Fenris still couldn’t grasp how he’d come to be asleep in Hawke’s room, or if she’d found her way into his.

“Fenris is going to stay with you the rest of the night, Hawke. Feel free to come up and get some fresh air, or whiskey if you need it. You can also tell him to leave.” She turned and headed out of the room with a look of satisfaction that made Fenris uneasy. Had she arranged this somehow? Was this her doing?

“I...am?”

Isabela turned back to look at him. “Well, _someone_ should stay with her, don’t you think? And since you've clearly called dibs...”

“Yes, but...I don’t know how I ended up --”

“Maybe you were sleep-walking!” Merrill was bouncing excitedly at the thought. Fenris couldn’t understand why that would be exciting to anyone. Terrifying, maybe, given his penchant for violence and the nature of his dreams. But then again, Merrill didn’t know the full extent of his nightmares.

Varric was still standing in the doorway. "You left our pity party pretty early, Broody. Said you were headed to bed. You must have gotten the rooms mixed up. It's been a pretty long day..." Finally, someone had offered a reasonable explanation. “Hawke, are you alright?” he asked, peering into the room.

“No,” she grunted.

“Wanna talk?”

“No.”

“Then I suppose Fenris is the perfect bunkmate for you. Good night, _everyone!_ ”

Hawke grumbled something else, then pressed her face further into the pillow and pulled her blanket up over her head. No wonder he didn’t realize he’d ended up in her room. She was doing everything she could to try and disappear. This was something Fenris could understand. He nodded toward Varric. He knew that it was no small thing that the dwarf was entrusting Hawke to his company and his care.

\---


End file.
